Esemoni
by Hungarian Hexes
Summary: Syn Potter was expecting something to happen in her fifteenth birthday surge, but not this.


Hey, you all! I'm back with this story again, completely new, because I really hated my last version! I twisted some things, and I'll actually have chapter titles this time, I'm pretty sure. I personally like Syn better this time around. But want to know some trivia? My sister and "the boyfriend" (hers, I don't have one) hate the name Synthya. I'm not even sure I like it as well. But I really like the name Syn. So, yeah. Sorry. On to the show.

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Disclaimer: I do plan to become as rich as JK, but not off of this. Would it even be legal to make money off of this? I don't think so. Darn it. I really, really wanted that laptop.

Extra Disclaimer: I don't even own the whole Esemoni-idea. (sobs) D'accord, so The Red Dragons Order came up with the idea and I'm just playing with it. Hopefully it will be better than it was before.

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Physical Manifestations of Phantasmagoric Identities

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The race of the Esemoni was lost from all known records after the Great Wars of Magic. The world was in chaos as humans were first learning to make themselves known as one of the great races. In this confusion, many believe that the Esemoni leader Chitanka led her race belowground with the gnomes, dwarves, and goblins. However, these believers say that the Esemoni burrowed deeper into the planet's core and are now living at the center of the earth, sustained by magic.

The theories of magic and physics make these myths improbable, even impossible. The legend of one of the greatest races that ever lived, the Esemoni, is still a wonderful story for children at bedtime, and most say nothing more. However, if a human dared to look closer, they would see their magical brethren whispering of great works coming—including the return of Earth's greatest race.

+ 

High in the sky over England, a star shone brightly, perhaps even brighter than it should have been. But only one person saw this miraculous occurrence and she turned away with a sigh, biting back tears that still threatened to spill out. After a month, most people would be consoled after the death of a friend. However, Synthya Potter (the famous Girl-Who-Lived) was definitely _not_ "most people."

After all, if a girl can destroy the most powerful Dark Lord in a few centuries when she was one year old, she should be able to handle the death of Cedric Diggory without help. Syn supposed that was the philosophy of most of the wizarding world. She knew her friends thought differently, though. Ron, Hermione, and even Ginny had sent letters and postcards (Hermione was in muggle Paris this summer) telling her that she could talk to them about anything.

The problem with _that_ philosophy, however, was the fact that Syn didn't really want to talk about it. She supposed that seeing a therapist would make the most sense, but she was also too stubborn to involve muggles in her weird and more than slightly twisted life. After all, how could one say that one had been transported to an old graveyard, seen one's friend murdered in front of them, had their blood used in the resurrection of one's enemy, and then escaping using the same magical transport that brought one _to_ the grave yard?

The therapist would think one crazy.

And so Syn stayed inside the Dursley residence and tried to start a journal of her life. It worked for about a day or so. She got through an introduction and grew bored of recording her life into the pages of an old notebook. The good part of this was the fact that Syn got used to using pens and paper again, not the silly quills and thick parchment scrolls most wizards and witches used.

Bored with her _brilliant_ journal idea, Syn then read and reread all her textbooks and did all her homework before mid-July hit. It kept her mind off the last year and Cho's address stuffed at the bottom of her trunk.

Cho Chang, a pretty Asian Ravenclaw a year ahead of Syn, had been Cedric's girlfriend. Syn couldn't bear to write to her until late July and after all her schoolwork was done. To her complete surprise, Cho had responded quickly and sympathetically, not harshly. They got talking about Cedric out of the way quickly and Syn found that it was easier to remember her fourth year without breaking down into tears.

Now, on the eve of her fifteenth birthday, Syn sat over a letter to Cho and thought about what to say. She reread what she had written already and noted that it had no mistakes that she could see so far. Trading letters with one of the smartest girls at Hogwarts did wonders for her grammar and, Syn secretly thought, her essay-writing skills. Since the Dursleys would punish her if she did better than Dudley on any assignment, Syn had gotten into the habit of purposely making mistakes and then it became her actual writing skills.

After signing her name, Syn pushed her chair out and stretched, cracking the bones in her back. With a sigh, she slumped down in the old swivel chair, propping her feet up on the small cot that served as her bed. She looked out the window again, checking to see if her owl Hedwig was there yet, and looked back at her clock. It read 23:49. Military time, of course, since it was cheapest when the Dursleys bought it.

_It also means_, Syn thought as the clock's digital display changed to read 23:50, _that I will be fifteen in another ten minutes._

Not one for fancy celebrations, Syn crossed to her bed and idly flipped through the Quidditch book Ron gave her once. There was a reason why school started at age eleven, and why the first big wizarding tests were held when the students were fifteen, and again when they were seventeen. While the child can make magic happen before eleven years of age, it is usually accidental and uncontrolled.

At eleven, the child is supposed to receive their first surge in power, sometimes unlocking some of the more dominant dormant abilities the child possesses. With the newfound power at his or her disposal, the child can now begin to try and control their magic through use of a wand.

At fifteen, the child always receives a power surge, usually bigger and holding even more power. It unlocks even more abilities, if the child has them. Most children do not have more abilities than those unlocked in the first power surge, but some special cases are made. Their fifth year at magic school is then devoted to getting more control over their magic and conquering harder spells and charms.

And finally at seventeen, the child receives their final magical boost. The child also stops being labeled as a child, since they finally have all the power they will ever achieve naturally. The NEWTs at the end of seventh year at the schools judge how well a student will be able to function in society, as well as their knowledge in the subjects of defense and magic.

And now Syn was expecting a pretty big magical surge, since she hadn't gotten one when she was eleven. She blamed it on the fact that when she was young, she didn't really believe in magic. That, or the fact that she had lived in a cupboard for most of her life so far. With a sigh, Syn closed her Quidditch book and stopped pretending she wasn't nervous. Cho had said that it had hurt a bit, but not much, when she turned fifteen. Well, she hadn't been missing her eleventh-year surge.

Finally, when the clock turned to show 0:00, Syn felt something snap her spine unnaturally straight. Arching her back to make it easier, the teenage girl sucked in air as she felt her bones shift in weird ways. Syn supposed that it was the fact that human bodies weren't designed to hold this much power in one minute, but then the pain went beyond that. Syn felt her face shift painfully and saw her hair change color to red and grow.

And then it suddenly stopped. Syn lay on her bed panting and not trusting the pain to have completely stopped. When she opened her eyes the world was blurry so she took off her black horn-rimmed glasses and paused. Now she could see perfectly and now it was also clear that she did not look like Synthya Potter, the Girl-Who-Lived.

Hesitantly, Syn stood and looked at herself in the full-length mirror strapped to the back to her door. The woman looking back at Syn had red hair, for one thing. And some noticeable features were definitely _not_ Syn's. Years of sleeping in a cupboard left the Gryffindor thin and nothing could change that, not even puberty (when it happened to arrive, that is).

"Wow," Syn breathed, and the woman's mouth moved the same way Syn's would have. This just proved that they were the same person, though the Gryffindor had no idea how it came to be like this. Suddenly uneasy with this gift, Syn thought of her own body and wished that she looked like that again. For a second, she thought her bones were liquid, but then the feeling was gone and Syn looked like herself again.

Syn ran a hand through her short-cropped hair, revealing the traditional lightning bolt scar on her forehead, and sighed. Then, getting an idea, she thought of the red-haired woman and wished to be her again. With the transformation came the liquid-like feeling, but it passed quicker this time and she found herself staring at the red-haired beauty again. She ran her hand through her hair and looked down. Shapely legs and torso there as well as in the mirror.

"Well," Syn murmured, "if I'm going to be able to look like this part of the time, I should name this form. And I suppose I should make a past and everything, just in case someone asks. Well, Megami sounds nice, though I don't have a clue where I heard it. Megami Kuro."

Syn changed back to her original form and sat down at her desk, once again glancing out the window for Hedwig, and opened a spare notebook. She uncapped a pen and began writing about Megami Kuro, who was 23 and currently lived in Montreal, Canada, but was on vacation in England to visit her dear friend Katherine…

By the time Syn was finished, Hedwig was back, along with Pig and Errol, the Weasley owls, a common post owl, and a nice Great Horned Owl, which Syn assumed was from Hermione. She folded Cho's letter and gave it to Hedwig, telling her to wait for a reply as always. Then, she relieved Pig and Errol of their packages and shooed them to the water bowl in Hedwig's cage. She untied the package attached to the post owl's leg, seeing with hope that it was from Sirius. Finally, Syn looked at the other owl and saw it eyeing her with distaste.

"Now, don't go biting me," Syn muttered as she untied the strings of Hermione's package from the owl's legs. It ruffled its feathers proudly and flew out the window. Syn wrinkled her nose at it and looked down at Hermione's package. It was probably a book—or something like that—and should be helpful in staving off oncoming boredom. She tore the wrapping off, being careful not to wake her relations. Though, it would be hard to wake Dudley, even when looking like Megami Kuro.

Lo and behold: a book. **Finally Realized You're Not Worth Dung at Making Potions?: a Guide to Brews, Draughts, and Drinks in General**. Trust Hermione to get a book for Syn with a title that filled half the whole first page. She flipped a few pages and read a bit of the introduction before setting the thick tome aside and reaching for Sirius's gift.

It was a pocketknife, but not the kind one would normally see. Instead, when Syn reached to flip out the knife part of it, three other attachments came out as well: a pen, a small unbreakable vial, and a small scale that glimmered green in the light coming in through the window, but blue in the light of the desk lamp. It was, if Syn could remember correctly, a dragon scale. It was a strong protection charm and would be _very_ helpful. Syn set the gift aside and reached for the traditional Weasley presents.

From Mrs. Weasley came her cooking; from Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley came a card (Syn searched for Percy's name but found it strangely elusive); from Ron came a book on broom handling and a sloppily-written card; from Ginny came a necklace she said she bought from a shop in the village. Syn suspected it was a pawn shop, but liked the antique anyway and decided to put it on.

The moment the clasp closed, however, it disappeared and the pendant (an ovular silver locket with an emerald in the middle) grew almost uncomfortably hot against Syn's chest. It began glowing and the Gryffindor clenched her hands at her sides, mentally berating her own stupidity and telling herself that it was her own fault if she died before telling her friends thank you.

But to Syn's astonishment, her head merely hurt for a second before the pendant flashed and grew cold again. Slowly, she uncurled her fists and relaxed her back, slumping back on her bed. The Gryffindor suddenly felt tired, and suspected the pendant had something to do with it. She stacked her presents and made a mental note to write and send thank-yous when she woke up. That done, the black-haired fifteen-year-old laid back and fell asleep almost instantly.

+ 

The next day, Syn woke up late. She didn't have a job or anything to be late _for_, or at least not yet, but she had gotten into the habit of waking early so she could get out of the house before Dudley was up. Now, the pounding on the stairs told her that Dudley was indeed awake and ready to cause her hell. Aunt Petunia thought sending Syn to an orphanage was a valuable threat? _Not_ sending her to one would be better.

The black-haired Gryffindor shook her head slightly, wondering if last night had been a dream, albeit a very nice one. She stood up and saw the paper with everything in Megami Kuro's life still out on her desk and smiled. It wasn't a dream, then. Maybe there was some fairness in this world. Call it karma.

Syn quickly ran a hand through her cropped hair, thinking that it was about as good as it was going to get. Cutting your own hair was a convenience that Syn had gotten used to over the years: not only did it make sure she usually liked her hair, but it also spared her the expense of paying to get it done professionally, or, Gods forbid, by Aunt Petunia.

Getting out was hard, but getting past the Order guards set out for her was a bit harder. And then, getting past both the guards and Dudley's gang (which seemed to have swelled in size over the years) was even harder. Somehow, the famous Girl-Who-Lived managed all three and was soon strolling through the nearby town, a new pastime of hers. Yes, Syn would get a letter from Dumbledore or someone that said that she wasn't supposed to move from within the perimeter of her guards, but pretending that the most dangerous wizard alive wasn't calling for her blood was worth it.

Syn nodded to a blond that she remembered from somewhere, but couldn't place where. He nodded back and they passed each other, their sides briefly touching. She felt a note being stuffed into my hand and she remembered where she'd seen him. He was one of the kids at Beaubatons, the kid Fleur had sent to her with a note after the Tournament, requesting a meeting. The Gryffindor took a detour into one of her favorite haunts—a bookstore—and hid herself in the isles to read the note. She had no idea what the boy was doing in England, but it was sure to be of interest to her.

**Ms. Synthya L. Potter—**

**Due to your actions towards my daughters, Fleur and Gabrielle, we have decided to extend an invitation to dinner at our chateau near Marseilles. If you decide to accept this invitation, please reply by post by August 2****nd**

**Sincerely—Aimee and Jean-Paul Delacour**

Syn folded the note up, grabbed a random book off the shelf and pretended to skim a few pages. Fleur and Gabrielle were very nice towards her during the Tournament and, if she accepted, it might be very good. After all, Fudge seemed pretty delirious at the end of the school year. He would probably do anything to keep his position as Minister of Magic, including making her look bad. To have some allies (and even friends) in France might not be half-bad.

Syn shoved the book back into its place and searched for a pen. She spotted one on the ground a few feet away when she couldn't find one in her pockets. Syn shoved the note into the pocket of her jeans (bought when she was nine from what looked like a cheap third-hand store) and scribbled a note on her palm to remember to reply later. Fleur was a strong witch to have made it to be a champion, and at least her grandmother was a Veela: a nice chance to make inter-species relations.

The Gryffindor exited the shop, scuffing her shoes a bit as she made her way to the old park near Privet Drive. Syn's mind was what you could call half-full at the moment; little thoughts, not always important. There was idle speculation on her homework, on the Delacour's invitation, and her new inheritance. She reached up and touched her new locket, hidden under her baggy shirt. It refused to come off, even this morning.

Syn sat on one of the swings—the only one that wasn't broken—and cupped the locket in her hands. She brushed her self-made bangs out of her eyes before giving up on it and focused her attention on the antique. It looked shiner then the night before, but it might have just been the light and Syn's imagination. After all, the dragon scale changed colors under different lights, so why not the locket?

The Gryffindor pried open the clasp, wondering if there was a picture inside. When the locket opened, however, a bright ball of light flew out. Syn almost fell out of the swing in surprise, watching the light warily. The ball flew around the swings a few times before settling down on Syn's knee. Her fright dying down, Syn stared at the ball of light and she got the impression that it was looking right back at her.

_Aren't you going to scream and run away, or do something interesting?_ the light asked.

Syn would have raised an eyebrow, had she been able to, but instead just said, "I almost fell out of the swing. Is that enough?"

_It's not as interesting as screaming or running away, but I suppose it will have to do_, the light replied. _Thanks for releasing me, by the way._

"Anytime," Syn said. "And if you don't mind me asking, what _are_ you? Don't be worried about surprising me with your answer; I've gotten enough surprises in the past twelve hours to render me surprise-less."

_I am magic. What you see is the physical manifestation that your brain chooses to recognize in place of the semi-real, phantasmagoric appearance that I, as a minor deity and Messenger, usually wear._

Syn could swear that the light sounded smug as some of the words flew over her head. "Yeah, whatever. So you're a ball of magic. You could have just said that, in place of whatever you just babbled about."

_But I am not _just_ a ball of magic. I am—_

"A physical manifestation that my brain chooses to recognize in place of something," Syn cut her new companion off. She held out her hand as she heard Dudley's gang coming around the corner. The ball of magic hopped into her palm and she stood up, going to hide beneath one of the trees. "But what can I _call_ you? I'm not going to go around calling you 'Physical Manifestation', of something along those lines, however truthful it might be."

_Just call me Ishmael._

"Very cute."

_No, really! As a Messenger, I technically_ am_ an outcast from my people. A Messenger from the Powers has no friends or family, as they are seen as weaknesses that could be used against a Messenger,_ the light explained.

"And here I thought I had it bad," Syn muttered. "Now I'm dead thankful that humans are sociable creatures, no matter how many times my friends can be overbearing. Gads, not being able to have friends? That's too much like being locked up in my old cupboard."

_So a cupboard is a room?_

"Nah, it's just a place to sleep if one really tries," Syn replied almost nonchalantly. Inside, she didn't really want to talk about it, even if she was the one who mentioned it. Syn glanced up and saw that Dudley's gang had passed, but some other kids had taken over her swing, so she decided to start heading back to the house, even if it would only be to write replies to all her letters.

_What are you thinking?_

Syn shrugged automatically without really hearing the question, then answered, "My relatives don't really like magic, so is there a way you could hide or something? That is, if you think me interesting enough to stick around."

_I have to stick around._ The light sounded sad and Syn's attention snapped to it. She got the feeling that it was eyeing her locket as it said, _You hold my roots. That charm around your neck—my existence is rooted in it. I cannot survive without residing in it at least once every forty-two hours of your time. If need be, I can go back inside if you promise to let me out as soon as possible._

_I have been in that horrid thing since the last human shut me in it... You don't have to keep it open when I'm not in it, by the way._ Syn realized that the locket had been open for their entire conversation. The light zoomed back in and the lid snapped shut quickly.

Syn didn't want to hurt her new friend and started off at a dash towards her house, probably looking like a lunatic to everyone around her. But hey: friends are precious enough that if you get one, you work to keep them.

It appeared as if Syn hadn't been too far behind Dudley's gang after all, and as she sped by them, they called out insults to her. She ignored them and got back to Privet Drive before they did. Once she was safe in her room, she opened her locket again and the light flew out again. Syn closed the locket carefully, checking once again for a clasp, and sat down at her desk.

Hedwig still wasn't back—maybe Cho was just taking a lot of time with her reply. Syn let the light zoom around the room, laughing when it almost knocked over some of her books when it sped by them. She grabbed the top book before it hit the ground, frowning when it seemed to glow for a second. Suddenly, she got a massive headache. Syn dropped the book, dropped her head into her hands, and started kneading her temples.

_What is it?_ the light, or Messenger, or Ishmael, asked cautiously.

"I don't know. I just have this_massive_ headache suddenly, and it just started as soon as I touched the bloody book!" Syn ground out. Her headache started to go away after she said it, and it left as suddenly as it appeared. "Now that was weird. It's gone..."

_Wouldn't that be good, if it was hurting you?_

"If I were normal, it would be very good. Unfortunately, I'm not very normal and I've got this one very bad wizard with a connection to my mind—one that can burst in without warning. He could have been rooting around in my mind just now—that might have been why I got a headache. In history, many prominent Dark Wizards and Witches tried to play around with their enemies' minds to make them less effective... in fights..." Syn trailed off again.

_What's wrong now?_ Syn thought that the Messenger sounded a bit exasperated.

"Nothing. I must have listened more in History than I thought I did. I just didn't know I knew that fact before now," Syn replied calmly. It was probably nothing to worry about, and the Messenger had probably seen worse. It would be stupid if she decided to complain about something good. She picked up the book and glanced at the cover—**Mind Magics in Battle**. She opened the book and started flipping through the pages. One caption looked familiar.

**In history, many prominent Dark Wizards and Witches tried to play around with their enemies' minds to make them less effective in fights.**

"Messenger, do you know if there are some people who can touch a book and immediately know what is written in them?" Syn asked, staring at the archaic drawing above the caption.

_I think my Brothers talked about it once or twice, but I've never met a person like that. It's a very rare ability. No offense, but whatever is going on with you, it probably isn't that particular ability._

"You're right. I'm overreacting." Syn stood up and tossed the book back on the stack. It missed and she retrieved it and put it back on the stack. Her hand brushed the book under it while doing so. Syn's headache was back and then gone before she could even gasp. Suddenly, her head felt a whole lot bigger, as if there were memories in there that she didn't know about before. She looked at the book and saw that it was Hermione's gift to her. "So that's what Snape hasn't been teaching us."

_Maybe I was wrong about that..._

"Will it at least get easier? Will the headache at least go away, and will it come if I've already read or touched the book?" Syn asked. It would be very humiliating if she went around being afraid of touching books. "It would be very limiting for this to happen all the time."

_Touch another book to see. And then try a book you've already read to check both questions._

Syn grabbed a Quidditch book (a present from Ron the year before). She'd already read it through at least three times. Now, the headache didn't come. She grabbed her History text (no one had touched it since Syn had bought it) and something shifted in her mind, but no pain came. "Very interesting."

_Try shifting into your other forms and see if it still works._

"Wait, what?" Syn asked bluntly. Yes, she had a different form (singular) that she had found out about during the night, but _forms_, as in plural? "How many _forms_ are you talking about, Messenger?"

_I can't read what all of them are, but I can see five other shapes buried in your mind, not including the form you wear right now and the form that was unlocked last night. Two of the forms can fly without external aid, and another is surrounded by vines and a fourth is inside a wall of—is that fire? And—oh, I'm not sure how you will take this, but two of the forms are male._

Syn didn't know how to respond to this, especially the part about the male forms, but was saved by Vernon's yell up to her. "Girl, we're heading out for the evening. Don't touch anything or call any of those freak friends of yours!"

"Of course, Uncle Vernon!" Syn called back, smiling. She might hate them, but at least the Dursleys were a constant. A really bad constant, but still something that she'd known all her life. Syn waited until the door slammed before asking Messenger, "How can I unlock these different forms? Assuming that I can, at least."

_Of course you can. They wouldn't be in your mind if you wouldn't be able to access them. To become an unlocked form, all you have to do is imagine being them, and I think you've already found that out._ Syn nodded and Messenger pulsed twice. _To unlock a form, you have to call out to them. Have you any training with Occlumency?_

"Occlu-what?" Syn asked. Then suddenly, she knew. "Oh! No, I haven't, but it sounds like a very good thing to have, especially in my line of business. You know, Dark Lord slaying, and all whatnot."

_Occlumency might have helped to bring out your other forms, but I'm sure that you'll manage. After all, you managed to throw off multiple Controls this year, and that shows strength of mind._

"Okay. So I just—_call_ these forms to me?" Syn clarified. Messenger pulsed twice again, which the young witch was beginning to take as a "yes." Syn closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to imagine her mind with the forms in it. She tried to clear her mind of all thoughts, like the book she'd absorbed suggested. She breathed steadily, and let her mind grow blank. She found herself drifting...

Syn was in a misty place. She blew and the mists cleared. She found she could think more clearly, as well. She was in what looked like a valley, in a glen surrounded by trees. Syn took a step forward and watched as figures stepped (or flew) out from between the trees.

One was Megami Kuro, the red-haired woman that Syn had borrowed the form of last night. She winked one dark green eye before retreating into the forest again. Syn nodded after her before turning her attention to the other occupants of the clearing. Five more people stood (actually, one hovered) there, as Messenger had said.

The form that was flying was tiny, without any hint to the sex. It had long hair, but for all Syn knew, only human males actually cut their hair. The form flew closer to Syn and she saw that it was a fae, and a girl one at that. A fae is slightly different from a fairy, though most never notice. Fairies exist for almost no reason besides enjoyment. Fae tend to guard people and things. For instance, there are summer fae and there are the winter fae, who take care of what happens to nature in their specific seasons. This particular fae looked, from its brown hair and green eyes, to be a spring fae.

Syn raised a hand hesitantly and the fae perched on it. For a minute, they looked at each other, neither wanting to say something first. Finally, Syn said, "Um, someone told me that I was supposed to call my forms to me. Have I done it, or do I need to do something really complicated and magically twisted?"

The fae laughed; a high, musical sound. She said, "You only need to name us now, Dragonmistress."

Syn filed the name away in her memory for further pursuit and looked around again. The other four figures still hadn't emerged from the shadows enough to see them. Syn looked back at the wood fae. "Will you acquiesce to the name Filia? It means 'daughter' in Latin."

Filia nodded and, fluttering her wings faster than Syn could see, flew off into the trees again. Another form stepped into the light of the glen. He was human, and handsome at that. Syn felt that it wasn't fair that he was one of her alter forms, not a real person she could go out with. His black-hair-black-eyes seemed stolen from Snape, but the hooked nose was nowhere in sight. His hair was also cut short, and the tips of his spikes were dyed green. He was thin, but his tight shirt betrayed the fact that there were muscles underneath his skin.

"Hullo, Dragonmistress," the teenage boy said, his voice calm and soothing to the ears.

Syn snapped out of her thoughts and said, "Hullo. You look to be about seventeen, right?" The teen nodded. "Then you can legally do magic. I think that will mean that, besides Megami, you will be the form that I will wear the most. I will have many, many lies piling up that I will tell. Therefore, it only makes sense that you will be named for deceit and cunning: Astun Dolosus. Will that be okay?"

Astun nodded and, like Filia and Megami, stepped back into the forest. Syn looked at the other three figures and saw another stepping forward. She wore a shirt and trousers of a material that Syn was sure muggles could never make. She wanted to rub it between her fingers, but thought that it would be rather rude. Her green hair was as spiky as Astun's, but without dye in it. She had brown eyes, contrary to Astun's black, as well. Something about nagged at her, like she wasn't entirely human. Then she remembered that Messenger told her that one of her figures was surrounded by vines.

"You're an earth elemental, aren't you?" Syn asked curiously.

"I am, Dragonmistress." There was that name again.

"How do you feel about the name Terra, then, for the earth?" Syn suggested, trying to push back her increasing curiosity about the name "Dragonmistress." Something pulled at the back of Syn's mind. She had barely enough time to see Terra nod before being pulled back into the realm of consciousness. She wished that she could have seen her other two forms before being pulled out.

+ 

Syn opened her eyes and groaned as a bright light hit her eyes. She blinked quickly as her eyes watered. When her vision returned, Syn saw with slight annoyance that the light was pouring in through the open window. She groaned and rolled over, right onto the ground. She landed with a loud _thump_ and groaned again. _Magically twisted, my ass_, Syn thought as she sat and accidentally brushed a book and was flooded with everything she needed to know about the Goblin wars of 500 CE to 700 CE. _Who cares about magic when it can't even stop the sun from getting one out of their trance?_

Following her wake-up call, Syn became aware of a strange buzzing. She looked around warily, but relaxed when she saw Messenger over by Hedwig's empty cage. It seemed to be contemplating the dry food left over from the last time Hedwig was there. An unknown owl also sat on the windowsill, making Syn grumble about suddenly being all too popular. It was a nice Tawny owl, with a blue envelope clutched in its beak.

Syn checked the writing on the envelope; it looked familiar. Suddenly, she remembered the note stuffed in her pocket. She groaned, remembering just now that she wanted to respond quickly, in case she offended the French nobility. Syn tore the envelope open quickly and read the letter eagerly.

**Ms. Synthya L. Potter—**

**Even though we sent Henri earlier with a note, we have decided to extend to you a different invitation. We hereby invite you to the Midsummer Ball, hosted at our chateau near Marseilles. This is in addition to a private dinner, as a thank you gift for the lives of our two beloved daughters. Please respond quickly.**

**Sincerely—Aimee and Jean-Paul Delacour**

Syn sighed in relief as the message was not a declaration of war, or of the like, but instead another invitation. But, wait. A ball? Syn couldn't dance. That wouldn't work out very unless she somehow managed to refuse all offers to dance during the night. While maintaining a polite and courteous exterior. Without offending anyone. Like hell that could happen.

But Syn picked up a stray quill and penned a reply. Hedwig could take it when she came back with Cho's letter. She couldn't wait to tell her friend about what happened—if she could. Maybe she shouldn't tell anyone; that would be much safer for her friends and much more dangerous for Voldemort and his crowd. But couldn't she tell a few people, so that they could help her cover when she had to do something in a different form? Cho would be of great help in that area.

When Hedwig returned with a thick scroll clutched in her claws, Syn still hadn't decided what to do. Messenger hadn't spoken at all; just floated around randomly. Sometimes he would disappear into Syn's locket and emerge looking much brighter than he had before he went in. Syn wondered, as she unrolled Cho's letter, what magics bound it to the locket.

**Syn, you are absolutely absurd.**

**If I didn't know that you hate his guts, I would suspect that you admire Draco Malfoy! Not only is he arrogant and pig-headed, but he is cruel to everyone around him, including his "friends." But in your last letter, you not only complimented his wardrobe, but also his style of fighting. From a purely technical point of view, I can see where you are coming from, but this is not a technical matter. This is Malfoy, the spawn of Lucius Malfoy!**

Syn paused, trying to remember what she said about Malfoy. It was something about how she wished she could remember as many offensive spells as he, for then she might be as good as him at fighting.

**Now, on a different track, how was your birthday? It didn't hurt too much, did it? What else is new? I heard that invitations are going out for the annual Midsummer Ball at the Ministry. Mum got invited, but I don't think she wants to go. She specifically said, though, that she wished that the Delacours would send invitations across the Channel. Then, perhaps, the French could talk sense into our politicians.**

**There is going to be a dance this year at Hogwarts, did you hear?...**

Syn dropped the letter and stared at her invitation. Cho's mother was a recognized politician, and a good one at that. And she said that the Delacours didn't send invitations over the Channel? But... Everything was all too confusing. Being famous was too confusing. Being a girl was too confusing. Being _human_ was too confusing.

_It's good that you aren't human, Dragonmistress._

Syn groaned almost pathetically. "I'm not even human? Gee, that takes a load off my back. Now, not only do I have to hide from rabid photographers, but I have to hide my species as well. Amazing. And what does that stupid name mean, anyways?"

_Dragonmistress? It is a term of respect and affection. Back when the Dragon ruled the other species_—"No one ever tells us the interesting magical jazz," Syn grumbled—_it also mean that the person has great power. For you, I think it means all three._ Messenger paused. _And the male form is Dragonmaster, but I doubt you'll ever use the title in your lifetime. One reincarnation is enough._

"Reincarnation? And did I sense a capital, as in Dragon?" Syn asked, wondering why Binns never mentioned this. At all. It was magical history, right?

_Yes, the Dragon was a magical persona, much like your Minister today, except much more powerful, and much smarter. It was named after the dragon, since it was the most powerful beast. The Dragons through the centuries keep the peace and tip the balance until it is even. If this means that the Dragon is dark, then he or she is dark. For you, it's more of a light thing._

_And as for the reincarnation bit, that is just when the powers of the Dragon show up in a human._

"But said that I'm not human."

_Correct. You are Esemoni._

"I'm not even going to pretend I understand what that means."

_It means that you are a shape shifter._

"Okay, then. So, to recap, I have the title Dragonmistress because I am a representative of the Dragon, and it means respect and affection. And I am not, indeed, human, but instead, Esemoni. I think I can handle that. Maybe." Syn collapsed backwards on her bed, rubbing her head. Her arm accidentally touched another book and she was filled with a sudden knowledge of all 417 fouls in Quidditch. Or something. Maybe 714.

_So are you going to reply to the Delacours?_

"Yeah, yeah. Need a human moment," Syn mumbled. Se tried clearing her mind, saving her thoughts for later. A few moments later she was feeling well enough to contemplate her invitation. And Cho's letter. "Hey, Messenger, d'you think that it would be fine to tell Cho?"

_I think that all good Dragons should have people they trust their lives with._

"So you're advising me to make sure I trust Cho completely before I tell her anything," I said. Messenger pulsed, something that I was beginning to take as its equivalent of a nod. I pulled a face, wishing that it would just tell me to do something. But I was getting the feeling that it felt that I needed to make decisions myself; to be able to weigh all the outcomes and choose the lesser evil. I was learning that I needed to do that to be seen as an adult.

"Okay, then. I'm going to write a reply to the Delacours, and then I'd like to take a walk to think about Cho. Would you like to come?" I asked Messenger and it pulsed again. I sighed and pulled a spare sheet of parchment closer, inking a quill. Then I began to write:

**Lord and Lady Delacour—**

**You are gracious to extend such an invitation to me. I would be honored to dine with you and your lovely daughters during the course of the summer, and I would be honored to attend your Midsummer Ball...**

* * *

This is the longest chapter I've written, I think... It's almost as long as Eye, Marie. Thank goodness I didn't write it all at once, else my hands would be aching like jazz right now. And sorry for the whole lumping together of like, five forms. I'm too lazy to do anything else.

Okay. I slightly have a plot right now. I have a Points-to-Hit list, and I know exactly where I want to go. Hopefully I won't follow Red Dragons Order's plot any longer, even if I will be using Order of the Phoenix as annoyances, not the "good guys." And I will be using the Delacours in here frequently. At least, I think. Feel free to send me dragon dung if this doesn't come true. And I think I'm spelling the name wrong, and I'm always too lazy to check it in the books. Feel free to correct me.

And yes, I hate Cho Chang in the series. That is exactly why I'm going to redeem her in here. If you want an explanation of why I'm trying this, look up Bobmin's Sunset/Sunrise series. (Sunset Over Britain, Sunrise Over Britain.) They've inspired me.

So, that's enough talking. I need to go write my entry for the Sokol Challenge thing.

Signing off.


End file.
